Incubus
by Kat Turner
Summary: Hermione Granger experiences one night of horror to find that the rest of her life is altered forever. Now her son has to deal with the results.
1. Cause and Effect

Incubus  
  
She washed and washed, yet could not get his smell off of her.

The water dripped down her body, holding to its crevices. The steam held her in its grasp. She washed again. Finally she sat in the shower, letting the steaming water boil her skin red. He would not come off of her. She could wash forever, even until her skin came off. She'd still smell him on her. His smell all over her forever and she didn't have a say in it.

It was his cologne, his sweat, and his heat. Almost like he'd marked her as his property. She was his to leave his smell on, his to touch. She hated him. With an infinite passion she wished him dead.

He'd go on, pretending like nothing happened. Like one night he'd never entered the room she was in, dark and alone. He'd pretend he hadn't frightened her and enjoyed the power he had over her. He'd pretend he hadn't crawled onto her bed, slowly, like a jungle cat. He'd tell his parents the scratch on his cheek was from falling over. He'd tell his friends he'd scored with another chick. That she'd been a little reluctant at first. That she'd given like a cow. Spread like butter.

Begged him to do it.

Then he'd look at her across the room and he'd know by the way she looked at him, that she hated him. Hated him for putting his hands where they shouldn't have gone, and touching what wasn't his to touch.  
  
She'd hate him for holding her down as she struggled and at one point, pleaded. Begged him to stop and to let her go. She wasn't the type to beg.  
  
But he didn't. His damn smell was still on her.  
  
He'd broken too many things that night and crossed too many lines. Beyond being forceful or pushy.  
  
She'd scratched him up good, she thought as she smiled to herself. The scars she left on him would fade in a few weeks. Her own would never fade, never heal, never mend.  
  
The smirk left her face as bitter sobs resurfaced.  
  
She thought of telling someone. She could have him arrested.  
  
No one would believe it. No one could prove it.

* * *

She couldn't wait to leave Hogwarts and to go back home and leave it all behind her. She'd forget about it soon enough.

She was home again. She felt like she was somewhere she belonged. She felt like she was somewhere safe. The feeling didn't stay for long.  
  
She leant over the bowl, warmth traveled along her throat and out of her mouth. Her eyes watered and she cried every time.  
  
Two months gone, and she thought about him everyday. His shadowy figure in the dark, approaching, cold, powerful. The thought of him wanted to make her vomit again and sent tingles of seething rage racking through her entire body.  
  
If she saw him again, she'd kill him, she knew it. Didn't matter how many people were there. She'd just kill him. Kill him for not doing her the courtesy of protecting himself. She'd tear his manhood away and tear at his skin. She'd cut him up in ways they could never fix him and he'd never be the same again. Children would cry to look at him and hug their mother's skirts. People would avert him on the street. She so passionately hated him that she could do it all with her bare hands.  
  
"Who's the father?" they'd asked. "Is he going to do the honorable thing?"  
  
It wasn't their fault, she told herself. She'd never explained everything to them.  
  
She'd wanted to kill it in secret, no one would ever know. She hadn't been able to fathom the thought of carrying something that half belonged to him.  
  
It half belonged to her now too, and she could never bring herself to do it. She loved it. She pitied it. What kind of a child would it be, considering the circumstances of its conception?  
  
Would it be violent, vicious, cruel and malicious like its father?  
  
Or would all the hate she felt for the man, transfer into the child, and would the child hate him as much as she did?  
  
There would be the perfect reminder of everything. The whole circumstance captured in a small life. Every time she would look at it, she'd cringe. Cringe and think of how it had come to be.  
  
Her body shook again and she leant further over the bowl.  
  
"How do you expect to raise this child? You're only sixteen! What were you thinking?" he raged. Fathers are like that though.  
  
They were coming to grips with it now. Her mother was outside the door, saying soothing words of comfort. Like waves crashing into rocks, it did not move her, or comfort her at all.  
  
She was beyond comforting. She had felt a slap of malice and was forever untouchable.  
  
Nothing would ever hurt her again as that single night had.  
  
Or so she thought.

* * *

She screamed. That's all she seemed able to do. People called out 'push' and begged her to try. Her parents were there, looking more scared than ever before. This wasn't right, this wasn't going to happen. The damn thing would just have to stay in there because she wouldn't give another push.  
  
All she could do was scream.  
  
Her body throbbed.  
  
It felt like she was being torn from her legs up. It was the most excruciating pain. Regular intervals of instinct forced her to push. Her body worked, her mind could do no more then make her scream.  
  
The baby must have had a huge head, like its father no doubt.  
  
She hated him more now than ever. He'd done this to her. He'd done it and caused it and she was pushing it all out. He was probably off on a beach somewhere, drinking tropical punches, getting fanned and having virgins feed him peeled grapes. She felt fat and unattractive.  
  
She cursed him. She screamed how it was all his fault. Told the doctors and staff how much she hated him. Her parents tried to divulge his identity. She could only scream the terrible curses she'd inflict on him the moment she could stand.  
  
She thought she was going to die from the pain.  
  
Twelve hours had already gone by. They never told her it'd take this long.  
  
She screamed. Sweat dripped. Her hair clung to her face and neck. There was no energy left. Nobody seemed to care.  
  
"Final push now, it's almost over!" the doctor cried.  
  
Shut up and get this thing out of me!  
  
No, she didn't want to touch it.  
  
No, she didn't want to choose a name.  
  
No, she would not practice feeding it!  
  
Nobody could understand why. Her mother had tears in her eyes. "Why won't you at least hold it, darling?" she asked. "What's wrong?"  
  
Too much was wrong, and she wouldn't touch it.  
  
All it did was cry. Cry for her, and she wouldn't let it near her. For a moment she fancied she hated it. She was so very wrong.  
  
They wore her down eventually, told her it needed affection from her. Such a lonely soul it must have been for those days.  
  
As soon as it was in her arms, she couldn't let it go. It was so tiny and so beautiful. It had come from her and she had made it. She had given it life.  
  
It needed her.  
  
The most beautiful little boy she'd ever seen. White-blond hair and pale eyes. Most newborn babies had pale eyes. His seemed so very special. She knew she'd never be able to let him go.  
  
Jack was his name from that day on.  
  
His life was in her hands; he needed her and she'd always protect him, always be there for him.  
  
She felt like she'd never loved before this day, never cared for a single soul as much as she cared for his pinky toe alone. The depths of her compassion and soul suddenly turned from a well to an ocean.  
  
Her son meant the world to her.  
  
His very existence was a conflict to her. If he had not destroyed her life, Jack never would have put it back together.  
  
Everything racked her brain and she knew that she loved Jack more than anything. If she could go back in time, she believed she couldn't possibly do anything different for fear that her heart would break from losing her baby boy.  
  
She still vowed that Jack would never know his father. 


	2. End of the Trio

A/N: I'd like to thank my beta's – bruno, hells, Tiffany, Allison and Cinder Ella for the wonderful job they've done – particularly bruno and hells who both have done so much for me! Thank you! Without them this story could not have been.

The End of the Trio 

She smiled at him as she often did.

He was such a happy, well-natured and beautiful little boy.

She had plunged herself into his life, and never looked back. He laughed, she smiled; he ate, she was satisfied; he hurt himself, she fretted; he slept, thank God, so did she.

She wasn't negligent to a present father figure either. 'Uncle Harry' spent many days babysitting, while she worked. He didn't have anything better to do, until a new Dark Lord came around.

How she ached to be away from him. What would become of him when she was gone?

Why did she have to go so soon?

It was just one more reason to hate that bastard. Perhaps he'd die before her, and then Jack could go to his Godfather. Harry was the one who deserved to have Jack, he was the one who loved Jack, and spent every day with Jack. He was the one that Jack adored. He didn't KNOW what a father was. He knew only her close friends, who shared the most special places in her heart.

She wondered if HE had a cure for what he'd passed onto her. If he did, Dumbledore had no clue what it was.

Thought, there might be a chance for Jack. He wanted nothing to do with his son. He had been sent a statement by her lawyers. He told his lawyers, who told her lawyers, where she and her son could go. He had told them that they weren't getting so much as a knut out of him. She winked at him when courts forced him to pay a very hefty sum each month. Just so long as she never had to see him again after that last day in court.

She had spent much precious time in court, unbeknownst to Harry and Jack, deciding where Jack would go on her expected death. She hated that bastard. She hated the fact that if he chose to, he could swoop down and steal him from her very funeral. She hated seeing him act so smugly.

She was quitting her job today. She'd spend her last years devoted to Jack.

She'd give him as much of her time as possible, before law demanded that either Jack go to his father, or his father abdicate responsibilities onto her parents or Harry.

They both lived in a beautiful little house. It was more of a cottage, which was secluded from the whole world.

It was small, valued and cosy. There was a great fireplace in the lounge room that heated the whole house. There was always a fire burning when she got home. Harry was always there, playing with Jack. Jack was his best friend these days. Ron would come by on the weekends with his wife. Crookshanks could always be found on a sofa near the fireplace. The house always smelt like freshly baked bread.

The best kind.

Onions, breadsticks, garlic and pots hung from the ceiling of the kitchen in great bundles alongside lavender and other herbs left to dry. Shelves filled with oddments in bottles and jars, a large cauldron hanging in the corner. Doug the cactus sat absorbing sunlight on the windowsill.

The whole cottage was surrounded by the most pristine green hills with shrubbery. Cows, sheep and horses could be seen in the surrounding pastures.

They lived the perfect isolated life, and Jack knew nothing of an outside world.

He knew nothing but that everyone around him loved him and indulged him with as much time as they could. He knew nothing but kind words. Knew nothing of a world full of hate or a world where bad things happened. Hermione couldn't stand to get cross with him, even when he was in his most naughty state of mind.

It was only a few years before Hermione became sick, and began remaining sick. She'd catch the simplest of colds and the commonest of flues.

She began to have restless nights, filled with nightmares.

Dreams that her son would be thrust into a giant cave filled with the most wonderful riches in the world. Amazing objects that drew him in deeper and deeper. Into the darkness he walked until he came before something that was sinister, like a black hole surrounding him. Its eyes were the only visible part of it and they stood several feet high, close to the cave wall. Two shimmering jewels that seemed greater, more expensive than any item in the cave. Without warning it let loose turrets of fire onto her precious son.

He withered and screamed and became a lifeless, charred, smouldering wreck on the cave floor. From his tiny body, something moved.

She could never see what it was, for she always awoke, screaming.

The next day she was feeling more sick than usual. The nurse, hired to see to her, was forced to hand feed her the morning's breakfast.

Jack bounced in that morning, like he did most days and jumped onto the bed to hug her. She winced but he couldn't see as his head was buried into her shoulder.

"Mum, can you come outside and play today?" he asked.

"No, Mummy's not feeling well," she replied sadly.

"Please!" he cried, tugging on her arm. "Come! Come! Please come, Mum! Please!"

Harry approached the room, having flooed into the lounge room.

"Come! You have to come!" he pleaded.

"Morning Hermione!" Harry waved.

"Mum, I want to go play outside, just this once?" he whined.

"Morning Harry, how are- Jack stop that, Mummy's talking," she replied.

"I want you to come out and play with me today!" he screeched while tugging more on her shirt.

"Feisty this morning, isn't he?" Harry said light-heartedly.

"Mum! Come out and play!" he said tugging her whole arm.

"Jack," she said plaintively, "no! I can't go and play with you today."

She didn't mean to be cross. She didn't want to be. Her temper was so short these days and it was so early in the morning. As all only children, he wasn't used to the word 'no' and he was used to getting what he wanted.

"You're always sick these days! You won't even come outside and play!" he said, throwing down her hand.

"Hey, kiddo," Harry interrupted, "why don't we go outside and play. We'll come back later when your Mum's feeling better."

Harry was looking almost as tired as Hermione was. He had black circles under his eyes, as he spent most of his time at Hermione's cottage, cooking, cleaning and taking care of Jack. Hermione's father was deathly ill and her mother was spending her days looking after them both, suffering from panic attacks at losing two of the most precious people in her life simultaneously.

Harry took his arm and walked him out of the room. Jack looked back at his mother and caught a glimpse of her looking out of the glass pane.

Her bed was right next to the window with white, ornate curtains hung on either side. The light burst through the casement, as if hugging her. The bed was neat and she was propped up in it. There was a little oak side table to the left with a doyley and a small box rested on top of a large, brown book. At the foot of the bed there was a large bookcase filled with his mother's favourite books, all hardback as they were her favourite. So many Muggle and Wizarding classics there, she'd read many of them to him. On the wall with the door in it, opposite to the bed was a large dresser with her jewellery box on it and many photographs of Uncle Harry, Uncle Ron and his Grandparents in them. Keepsakes were stored under the bed.

She didn't look as they left, just stared out the window, and Jack remembered every detail of that room perfectly for the rest of his life.

That was the moment that he understood, to a degree, what everyone had been trying to tell him. That his mother wasn't getting better. Unfortunately, he was still too young to understand what that really meant. He just knew that he was meant to be sad, and in many ways, he was.

When she had him sit on the end of her bed and told him that she'd be leaving soon – forever. He hadn't thought she meant so soon.

Two weeks later and she didn't wake up one morning. Refusing to go to any hospital until the very end.

It had to be explained to him many times, and he still didn't get it. He still didn't understand why she just couldn't wake up. What had changed? What had happened? How was she any different from yesterday? She looked the same. She just looked like she was sleeping. Everyday she'd managed to wake up and hug him - what was so different about today? He hated her for not waking up.

He was an orphan, except for his Uncle Harry, who stayed with him.

That's when everything changed.

She was buried. It was a very small progression, but Jack didn't know that because he had never known many people at all. To him it was a lot, though probably fifteen in total. On that very day, a man stalked into the gathering family. They were outraged. Some were telling him off for daring to come in. Others were leaving the room.

The man didn't care one bit.

He caught sight of Jack's uncle and sauntered up. He had a pale, pointed face and blond hair. His nose was a lot like a rat and Jack had never seen the likes of him before in his life.

"Potter," he sneered. He looked from Uncle Harry to Jack and back again.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Uncle Harry said, with a tone of voice Jack had never heard him use before.

"Legal issues regarding _it_," the former replied. "Still moping around with nothing to do?"

"Don't start with me, Malfoy," Uncle Harry replied. "You're just lucky Ron's not around or you'd be dead. I'd just shut my mouth if I were you."

Uncle Harry put a hand on Jack's shoulder protectively and drew him near. The stranger must have seen this, because something dawned on his face. Jack didn't know what it was, but it made him uneasy.

He looked at Jack and did something peculiar. He leant down to Jack's height and looked into his eyes.

"Do you know me, boy?" the man asked.

Jack shook his head.

"So," he replied, "the little slut has told you nothing of me?"

Uncle Harry hit him, square in the jaw. Jack didn't understand it. Didn't know what 'slut' was. Didn't understand why he should know this stranger. What he did see was that Uncle Harry was extremely angry, and for some reason, he himself was extremely angry. He knew he shouldn't like this man and that this man was here for bad things.

The man looked furious, reached into his pocket for something. Then, it seemed that he changed his mind. He straightened his robe and smirked. He turned around, gave everyone a quick nod, before he walked out the door.

Jack had never been so confused, and had never seen his uncle so angry and out of control. Jack didn't understand his emotions, had been told he'd never see his mother again. Wondered why she hadn't loved him enough to stay. He was confused about so many things and the only thing to do seemed to be to stand in a corner and think. He cried, then he was quiet, and soon he cried again. It seemed almost too soon that the stranger had returned with a friend, waving paper around. One day Jack would find out that friend was a top barrister, and that order was for custody of Jack.

"We'll, I'll just be off with my boy, then," he said, almost cheerfully.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Harry asked viciously. He looked scared. "You told the lawyers you want nothing to do with him."

The man's smirk increased. He looked so happy. Kind of like when Crookshanks caught a mouse.

"Oh, but I've changed my mind. I have every right to. Let's see if I can't make a proper son out of him," he said. "Always wanted to try out my fathering techniques. So I'll just be off with him. Have a nice day, Potter."

He spat the last words, took Jack by the hand and started for the door. The whole room went into panic. Jack was too stunned to fight or break free from the pincer-like grip. He saw his Grandparents, Uncle Harry and Ron and everyone he loved, lunging after him.

Uncle Harry was rampant.

"You can't do that! You won't get away with this, Malfoy!" he screamed, chasing after them.

Jack tried to reach for Harry, stretched his arm, cried screamed and kicked. Wailed through tears and pulled at hair. Didn't know where he was going but knew it was not a good place to go to.

It was the last time Jack saw Uncle Harry for a long time.

A/N: Thanks go to the following reviewers:

Hermione-Granger17: Thank you! It's so great to hear you've read some of my other stuff and liked my work. I appreciate it immensely. I hope you like this story as much as my Hermione one. I've updated the Hermione story too! (Still only 6 chapters but it's been updated and the 6th is new, I promise!)

Vanyaria Darkshadow: I should write more? I have the view that you should be locked in a tower, forced to write ALL the time, such is the quality of YOUR writing. You are depriving the world by not doing so. Well, I HAVE updated the Hermione story – so yey! But I'm glad you liked this one!

Sofa Girl: Good speechless or bad speechless? Either way, thanks for reading!

Erin: thanks! Have done!

Foxxglove: thanks for your review! Normally I wouldn't go for this kind of thing either. But as someone much wiser than me said – there's something so wrong about raping Hermione, but it works. I hope its well written and that you keep reading!

Josie: No, I'm not a mother actually – but bruno gave me EXCELENT pointers and helped me out where I was lost. Thanks for your review!

Anti-Christ of Criticism: Thanks – Incubus is the name of a spirit that impregnates women in their sleep – it's a tribal tradition. I hope that explains something. I'm glad you like my work, and I blushed at your comments! Thanks!

Saranomy: Thanks! I hope you're less confused now!

Thanks all of you for your reviewers, thanks to the reviewers on FA who have been mentioned over there!


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